Too Wilde to Wed (The Wildes of Lindow Castle, #2)(47)

She sighed. “Breasts are indelicate and immoral. My mother’s judgment, in case you’re wondering.”

“Immoral?” North managed to tear his eyes away. “How can a part of one’s body be immoral?”

Diana rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be absurd! You don’t go around with that exposed.” She waved her hand toward his breeches.

His lips curved. No, he hadn’t been using lip color, as she and Lavinia had once surmised. That dark rose color was his own.

“Just because I keep my tool wrapped up doesn’t mean it’s immoral,” North stated, his tone purely wicked.

“I must return to the castle,” Diana said. But she couldn’t stop herself: “‘Tool’? Tool? That’s absurd.” Giggling. She always seemed to be giggling around him, like the green girl she wasn’t.

“What term do you prefer?” His eyes met hers, curiosity warring with desire. “I haven’t discussed the subject with a young lady before.”

“Nothing! It shouldn’t be mentioned,” she said, hastily stuffing her fichu back into her bodice.

“Cock?”

His deep voice hung in the air, the silence broken only by the cricket and the gentle lap of water against the boat. Diana’s cheeks turned so red that her ears felt hot. “North!”

He grinned, unrepentant. “Some men talk about their willy, but I think that word references something Godfrey’s size.”

“I see,” Diana said. Her inner voice screamed at her to remember that she wasn’t a shy miss any longer. She was an independent woman. A mother. Sort of. She cleared her throat. “I must return to the nursery.”

Any gentleman would apologize for embarrassing her, but North showed no signs of doing so.

“Are you speaking those words to me because I’m . . .” She couldn’t work out what she wanted to say. Did she want to ask if he felt free to bandy words with a governess because she was part of the household? He didn’t, and she knew it. Did she mean to ask whether he thought she was ruined? He didn’t.

“Never mind,” she amended.

“I’m expanding your vocabulary because I’m a born teacher,” he whispered, leaning over and brushing his lips on hers.

Despite her resolution to return to the castle, her mouth opened. His tongue skimmed her bottom lip and slipped inside. Heat simmered in her belly and down her legs, because he tasted so good.

She loved the way he was holding her shoulders, holding her still so he could kiss her deeply, as if they were one person instead of two.

She put her arms around his neck, and he kept his hands where they were. All they did was kiss. And kiss some more. She took a breath now and then. He muttered something low, but dived back into her mouth before she understood.

An hour or so later, he pulled back and said, “I suppose you must return to the castle.” His voice rasped, as if he were pushing a rock up a hill. Performing an amazing feat of strength.

Diana had completely lost her head. Her heart was pounding and she felt happier than she had in months . . . no, in years. She smiled, took each of his hands in one of hers, and slid them down her front, brushing her scarf aside.

Her corset had forced her bosom into a single mound, squished together like a bundle of laundry.

But her breasts emerged from the top, because a corset couldn’t subdue Diana’s generous curves. She dragged his hands down, just enough so they rounded her bosom, her hands cupped over his.

The emotionless duke-to-be was gone. Looking back at her was a man whose eyes were turbulent and full of desire.

There was more there, but that desire . . . he wanted her. Freckles and all. With no paint, no wig, no jewels, no silence. His desire was for the real Diana.

To this point, she’d been focused on giving North whatever he needed to heal from injuries she felt responsible for. Acceptance. Kisses. Toast.

But she hadn’t thought . . .

“I believe we should leave the boat now,” North said, his voice low. He slipped his hands from under hers.

She stared at him as he rose in one smooth movement and hauled on the rope. One tug and the boat skimmed onto the grass bank.

North leapt out and turned, one foot on the boat, hand reaching toward her. Diana crawled onto the backseat.

He made a stifled sound, a groan, and she looked up at him. “I don’t want to fall out,” she explained. “I can’t swim.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I know,” she sighed, straightening, but still on her knees. “I shouldn’t go anywhere near water. I wouldn’t let Artie and Godfrey in the boat, I promise you.”

Her eyes dropped. His breeches were tented in front with something very large. Hard. Right at the level of her eyesight.

Slowly she looked up and met his eyes.

North leaned forward, with one hand holding the prow and the other swinging around her waist. Before she knew what happened, he grabbed her, took a step back, swiveled, and placed her on her feet.

“I don’t have a willy,” he said, a wry twist to his lips.

“No,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry that you no longer have shoes,” he said, dropping her hand. He bent over, and before she could stop him, her stockings flew over the bank, floated on the surface for a few moments, and sank.

Of course they sank. They were heavy and hot. They made her legs itch and her calves sweat.